


How to Banish (Un)Wanted Spirits from Your Home

by Artpressing



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Black Humor, Dallon is Bad at Solving Problems, Ghost Brendon Urie, Googling Stupid Shit, Haunted Houses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned suicide attempt, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Rituals, Spencer sees Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artpressing/pseuds/Artpressing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallon was fine at first.<br/>Then he started freaking out.</p><p>Or: In which Brendon is a ghost and doesn't like it when people move into his house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carnations and Serenades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make this readable, hold on.  
> It was uploaded from mobile, so it probably look like a pile of random words.

The new guy isn’t that bad after all. Hell, Brendon even likes him.  
Spencer apperantly doesn't.  
“He doesn’t annoy you? Not one bit? Like, he doesn’t bring a bunch of girls with himself? Or he doesn’t watch football with his friends every weekend? He listens to ACTUAL music?”  
“He’s usually not even here, dude. He doesn’t bother me. And his friendsnever come over. I'm not sure if he has friends around here at all. And he's a musician, he makes “actual” music. It’s awesome.”  
Spencer stares at him in disbelief. He sighs and buries his face in his hands.  
“Do you...do you want him to stay? Would you be okay with that? With this Dallon guy?”  
Brendon laughs so hard, that his outlines become blurry.  
“A roommate I didn't ask for? No thanks. I just don't want to freak him out for a while. Let him have his fun. Maybe he can stay for a couple weeks before I start throwing stuff at him.”  
He disappeares, then flickeres into existance right in front of his friend.  
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your Brendon time.”  
Then he tries to hug Spencer, and it’s cold and weird and it feels like he’s hugging himself, because Brendon doesn’t have an actual body, but it’s a hug nonetheless.  
(Spencer tries to ignore the fact that the last time he held Brendon's physical body in his arms he had dried blood in his brunette hair and his eyes were glassy and still open and he was fucking dead.)  
When Spencer lets go he breaths out a soft laugh.  
“Okay, but stop doing that. It's creepy.”  
“Stop doing what?”  
“Jumping into my face like that. Or at least warn me before you do it. It freaks me out”  
Brendon roles his eyes.  
“They are called ,,suprise hugs” for a reason.”  
“Hugs are good. Mini-heart attacks are not.”  
They laugh for a couple seconds, but Spencer’s smile fades quickly.  
“What kind of flowers do you want?” He blurts out.  
Brendon snorts, and tries to pat his friend’s shoulder. (His hand goes through Spencer. They pretend it didn’t happen.)  
“Are you trying to woo me, Spencer Smith? You need to try harder than this, then. Buy me a big bouquet of blood red roses. And I want expensive bon-bons. And a hundred teddy bears. And you should arrange flower petals in a heart shape around your bed and wear a-” He wanted to continue, but Spencer cut him off.  
“It’s not fucking Valentine’s day. Your birthday is tomorrow, Brendon, I know it’s something you don’t really celebrate anymore, but some people do. The flowers are for your fucking grave.”  
Brendon freezes. He eyes Spencer for a couple seconds, shakes his head, and steps back.  
“Carnations are fine.” And with that, he disappears.  
“Listen Bren, I didn’t want to upset you. But we can’t pretend you are still alive. I can’t do that. I tried, but it...It feels wrong. I don’t know how to cope with the whole thing. I don’t know how to cope with you.”  
The air gets colder and heavier around him, but Brendon doesn’t materialize. He feels like he just touched one of those plasma globe lamps. Brendon is probably holding his hands. Spencer clears his throat. “But you are my best friend. I don’t care if you are six feet underground, or up here. Stop being a bitch.”  
He feels a force dragging him towards the backdoor. A sigh echoes in the room and Brendon appears.  
“You don’t have to visit me if you don’t want to. You can forget that ghosts exist and I’m not here.”  
“Then who should I hang out with? Ryan? You are here Brendon. And you are a much better friend than anyone I know.”  
“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m pretty cool. And you are late from a date. Go, before Dallon comes back. He would be surprised to find a random stranger talking to himself and getting super emotional in the middle of his living room.”  
Spencer steps towards the door and waves.  
“Right. See you tomorrow Bren. Wish me luck.”  
Brendon waves back. He wonders if he should say what he's thinking, because he's not sure how his friend would react, but it feels important. He clicks his tongue and whispers.  
“I don't need the carnations, buy flowers for her instead.”  
Spencer watches him for a couple long seconds, then shakes his head and leaves.

The next day Dallon finds four white carnations in front of his door. He has no idea who left them there, but he puts the flowers in a vase anyway.  
Brendon knows.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendon might like Dallon more than he should. Because really, Dallon is the first person who moved into his house and isn’t a complete asshole.  
And he looks gorgeous and has a really nice butt, so Brendon doesn’t complain when his new “roommate”changes his clothes or sleeps naked. Not. One. Bit.  
(Brendon knows it's creepy, but he's a ghost, he is supposed to be creepy. Kind of. )  
The other thing he loves about Dallon is his music. And sometimes Dallon sings while he is naked and that's one of the best things that ever happened to Brendon in his life. And death.  
Tonight Dallon is sitting on his couch, wearing nothing but his underwear, singing a song called All the Boys. He frowns every time he can't hit a note, the fact that he isn't capable of what he imagined frustrates him.  
He throws the notebook across the room and picks up his bass instead. He starts singing something Brendon never heard before. The bass is a little out of tune, and Dallon furrows his eyebrows when he's concentrating and he looks ridiculous, just a guy in boxer briefs playing a bass in complete darkness.  
But when Brendon closed his eyes it was pretty good. Amazing, even. He listens to the other man’s little midnight concert for a while, floating just above Dallon's shoulder.

_Every girl from here to Soho,_  
_Loves to tell me things I don't know._  
_Beautiful and smart, and not good for me,_  
_At all._

It sounded like Dallon sang this song more than just a couple times. It was his song, something he knew, something he was familiar with. It’s relaxing to watch someone feeling the music they wrote, even if the lyrics aren’t exactly happy.

_Everyone is better than me, I think,_  
_Everyone is better than, better than me_

  
Because… Brendon has never seen Dallon acting self-destructive or downcast, he looked normal, cheerful, even. But his words proved otherwise.  
Brendon wondered if Dallon was dead as well.

_Look what you've done, now I'm a mess,_  
_Today I even thought I'd wear a dress,_  
_It's beautiful, so smart and no good for me,_  
_At all..._

Brendon would be totally fine with Dallon wearing a dress. He saves the mental image for later, and tries to concentrate on Dallon’s voice instead of his body.  
The music session isn’t over after the song ends, Dallon keep playing around with his bass, just trying out different melodies without any purpose. Brendon lays down in mid air, wondering if he could fall asleep. Dallon suddenly stops, jawns puts his bass aside and stumbles towards the bathroom. Brendon looks after him, then his eyes find the notebook on the floor.  
He knows it’s silly, and probably a little selfish, but singing won’t hurt. Dallon can’t hear him anyway.  
Well, at least that’s what Brendon thinks.  
He picks All the Boys, and starts singing. God, he missed this.  
He expected the slightly floating furniture, because weird things happen whenever  
he is concentrating or just not paying attention to the world surrounding him.  
He doesn't really care.

Okay, so Dallon is pretty sure someone is singing in his living room. The guy is actually a great singer, but it's the middle of the night and ten minutes before he was alone, so it's fucking terrifying.  
He stares at his reflection in the mirror for a while. His hair is a mess, the toothbrush is still in his mouth, and there are dark circles under his eyes.  
There's someone in his house.  
He puts the toothbrush away, spits as silently as he can so the stranger won't hear him, takes a deep breath and opens the door.  
The guy in the room is...well, not an actual guy.  
He's just swirling, human-like black mist. The air is heavy and awfully cold and everything is levitating, the bass, the couch, even the carpets. Pages from the notebook are circling the dark shape like a whirlwind and the song sounds eerie and hauntingly beautiful at the same time.  
Dallon gasps, the singing stops and the ghostly figure turns it's (his?) head towards the bathroom.

Silence.

Then everything crashes to the floor, the figure disappears and the door slams at Dallon's face.

There's a fucking ghost in his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I looove comments.  
> Just kidding.  
> Only leave a comment if I'm worth your time.  
> You don't have to if you are not feeling up to it.


	2. Lurking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....Did I mention that Brendon is actually scary?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh.  
> Thank you for reading this! It means a lot.

Dallon doesn't sleep for two days. Brendon couldn't help but feel sorry for him, mostly because it’s his fault. But blaming yourself for something when you're dead isn't easy, so he just shrugs it off, and ignores the guilt. It’s easier. 

Dallon is sitting on his messy bed, cross legged, drinking coffee and typing on his laptop. Brendon recognizes the sites he’s reading, he had seen Spencer look through them two years ago. 

Dallon hums something while he stirs the inky, sweet liquid in his yale blue cup. His eyes are getting heavy and he’s frowning at the screen. After taking a deep breath he says “I’m not afraid of you.” while fishing out a sharpie from under the bed. He puts it on his bedside table with a piece of paper, scribbles something on it, then curls up on the bed and pulls the covers over his head.

Brendon huffs in amusement and reads the paper ‘Tell me your name if you’re real.’

He rolls his eyes and makes sure that the man beside him is asleep.

He’s going to have fun.

 

The first thing Dallon does when he wakes up is checking the note. It’s empty, no name, nothing. He let’s out a soft laugh and runs his hand through his sticky hair. He must have imagined the whole thing, it probably happened because he was tired. It must’ve been that.

But when he goes to the bathroom he catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He stares at his reflection for a couple seconds. The circles under his eyes, his thin and pink lips, pale face, his dark, disheveled hair, and the enormous, black penis drawn on his forehead.

He chokes on his breath.

Someone laughs.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been two years and Spencer still has the keys to Brendon’s house. No one ever bothered to change locks. Well, no one before Dallon.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Spencer to climb through the kitchen window, and Brendon, - _the little shit-_ doubles over laughing, which is not helping at all.

“I swear I would kill you if you wouldn’t be already dead. Shut up.” he  says as fixes the the flowerpot he accidentally knocked over with his feet. The ghost stops, but he still has an obnoxious grin on his face. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“What’s the good mood?”

He’s not sure how, but Brendon’s grin grows even wider. It’s a bit scary.

“Okay, so Dallon heard me a couple days ago, and he left a note and a black sharpie on his table one night so I could write something for him, and I drew a dick on his face. You should've seen it. He just looked into the mirror and when he saw it, and when he tried to wash it down, and-”

“That’s...That’s great Brendon, but I have to ask, why do you think he heard you? Can he see you as well?”

“I started singing and he came in, and looked right at me. He was surprised, so I’m sure he’s not the fucking ghost whisperer like you are.”

 

And there it is again.

 

_Brendon has been calling him that since Spencer met Lily Jackson, a ghost of a six year old, who has been hit by a car in the eightys. It was the first time Spencer saw someone beside Brendon, and at first he completely denied it, then when he mentioned it to his friend he just shrugged, and said that he might be the real life ghost whisperer._

_They didn’t talk about it until a month later, when a man killed himself and Spencer accidentally ran into him. The guy didn’t look weird at all, but then turned out he died a week before Spencer saw him. He naturally  freaked out, and he still remembers the conversation he had with Brendon._

_“I’m seeing other people.”_

_This wasn’t the best way to phase it, since his friend didn’t get what he was saying._

_“That’s great. You need friends who are, you know, alive.”_

_“No, I mean other ghosts. Like you.”_

_Brendon didn’t respond at first, then he just smirked and said: “Told you. You really are the ghost whisperer.”_

_The nickname stuck._

 

Spencer sighs.

“Stop calling me that, or I won’t help you with this guy.”

Brendon grins, and whispers “Sure, Melinda” and starts giggling. In response Spencer just pulls out a tube of fake blood out of his bag and slams it on the kitchen counter while glaring at the ghost.

“Hand prints or cryptic messages?”

“Both.”

“Too much. Choose.”

“Hand prints.”

Spencer nods, and climbs on the kitchen counter, so he can reach the ceiling. He puts some of the paint on his palm and starts leaving crimson hand prints on the wall. Brendon just floats beside him, asking his usual questions while he works.

“So, how was your date?”

Spencer looks at him, then at his shoes then back at Brendon. He opens his mouth to say something, then quickly closes it, and responds with a dry “Nice.”

Brendon can see he's frustrated, but doesn't understand why, so he pushes.

“Did you get laid?”

And that's when Spencer stops, sits down on counter and puts aside the fake blood.

“I've been dating Linda for a year, what do you think we’re doing, playing Monopoly?”

The ghost just shrugs, but doesn't say anything. Spencer looks at the floor with furrowed eyebrows, then continues.

“We want something more serious. We talked about moving together and we’re going to look at a couple apartments next week. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy and it was my idea in the first place, I just don't want you to feel left behind, since I won't be visiting you this often.”

“Spence. Spence, this is fucking amazing! Don't you dare worry about me, I'll manage.”

He smiles brightly, then quickly adds:

“As long as you don't live in a Lego house I'm completely okay with it.”

And that ruins everything Brendon said before.

“Ugh, sometimes I don't know why I'm friends with you”

“Because I'm awesome, Spence, because I'm awesome.”

And well, Spencer can’t really argue with that.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dallon comes home he doesn’t turn on the lights in the kitchen, so Brendon is disappointed, because he has been waiting for it for two hours.

And it gets worse when Dallon looks up the next morning, his eyes widen a bit, but he continues to pour cereal in his bowl and he’s clearly not impressed.

Dallon is not scared and he’s pretty smug about it.

He’s not as smug when Brendon slams a door on him and he spills coffee on his new dress shirt right before he has to leave for work.

And honestly, it’s worth it for Brendon for more than one reason. Because Dallon takes the shirt off right in front of him, and wow, he didn’t know how much he needed that.

He considers pouring other things on Dallon.

 

* * *

 

 

Life isn't exactly normal, but it doesn’t bother Dallon that much. The spirit in his home is like a silly room mate, the things he does are not really mature. Sure, they are strange but not even close to scary. They are pranks, that some children pull on adults, like making their socks disappear, opening the windows every time someone closes them.

When Dallon finds a cup filled with water turned upside down on his table it’s nothing special. It has a note next to it that says “I dare u”, and he isn’t surprised, he knew the ghost was pretty good with sharpies.

He has a snarky comment on everything and hopes that the ghost hears him.

After three weeks the pranks stop. Dallon just shrugs, and thinks that the thing haunting his house ran out of ideas.

He doesn’t admit that he misses the childish shenanigans.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendon realizes that Dallon is not scared, because he’s not taking him seriously. Surely, no one would take a dick drawing ghost seriously, but it offends Brendon.

So he decides he should do something more sinister, or cryptic. He looks at some of the lyrics he wrote with Ryan before he died, because that’s the closest thing.

It’s extremely difficult to find a song that doesn’t have anything to with sex or getting high with your friends. And there is Northern Downpour, but Brendon is sure he won’t be able to sing that without crying. But who knows, crying ghosts are supposed to be scary.

And he is right.

Because when he starts singing at two in the morning Dallon gets up,  his jaw clenches, and at first he just listens.

And when Brendon’s voice breaks at “ _I know the world's a broken bone, But melt your headaches, call it home_ ” his face changes, and he forgets to breath. He slowly gets out of his bed and finds the figure sitting in front of the open bathroom door. He’s not a black mist anymore, Dallon can see some sombre colors, and the outlines of a small man, who is shaking at least as much as he does.

The room is freezing, and Dallon can’t really feel his toes anymore, the air is filled with a weird electric buzzing, and if the phantom on the ground wouldn’t have a but beautiful voice he would be terrifying.

Then he looks up, and okay, now he’s terrifying.

He slowly gets up, not singing anymore, but murmuring words Dallon can’t really understand.

And oh, shit, he’s floating.

Dallon would run, but the dark, glassy eyes keep him in place. The air is getting heavier, and the breath is stuck in his chest, and the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, and the ghost is getting closer and closer and closer, and, and… It suddenly disappears. Dallon gasps, and blinks. When he opens his eyes again there’s a face of a young man right in front of his. The man lifts his hand  and slowly touches Dallon’s face. It doesn’t feel like fingertips- It’s feels like he’s been shocked, and slapped and scratched. It’s freezing and burning at the same time and it makes him dizzy. The hand on his face wonders down to his neck and he wants to either choke or scream.

Then the figure quickly fades away.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Holy shit.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day the hand prints on the ceiling look a bit more threatening.

Dallon is tired, but he doesn’t care, he can’t really sleep after what happened.

A cup breaks, he jumps a little. He is paranoid.

Brendon is watching from the doorway. He is pleased.

 

* * *

 

 

He should sleep.

It’s been two days and nothing happened since, he should sleep.

Dallon is lying in his bed, fully clothed, blinking at ceiling. The sunlight is shining through the window blinds, casting strange shadows on his face. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, let’s sleep embrace him.

When he wakes up he doesn’t open his eyes, registers the cold and the silence. It must be past midnight, he thinks. The air is a bit cold for a spring night, but his sleepy mind doesn’t pay attention to that, he just wants to get under the sheets, and sleep for a bit longer. Then he feels something on his chest, and he knows that the presence from before is around.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes.

He shouldn’t.

But he opens them anyway, and the first thing he sees is the ghostly figure of the man, sitting on his chest, looking at him emotionless and leaning way too close to his face.

The phantom wraps his long fingers around his neck again and leans even closer. Their foreheads touch, and Dallon can see the figure’s full lips curling into a twisted grin.

He is not exactly held down, since when he tries to push the man away his hand goes right through him, he could just stand up a leave and run and never come back, but he’s not thinking straight, he can’t move, he can’t do anything about the ghost on top of him.

He let’s out a whimper, and closes his eyes. Counts to ten. The pressure is gone. He won’t open his eyes again. 

Sleep consumes him, and this time he dreams about that too wide smile, the hands and the eyes that have nothing kind left in them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original title of the chapter was 'Shit just got real.'  
> I didn't keep that.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joke when me and two of my friends were watching The Conjuring.  
> One of my friends was scared and we tried to calm her down with bad jokes and terrible puns.  
> Then after the scene in the basement (which was hilarious in my opinion) I came up with an idea for a crack fic, where Brendon is a ghost, and he doesn't like when people forget to close the "god damn" door, so he just slams random doors on other people's faces.  
> And that was the story.  
> I didn't want anything serious.  
> And when I started writing it it turned into an angst, and I had no idea what the hell was going on. 
> 
> I want to write four or five chapters in total. This contains an epilogue, because one of my friends (the girl who was so scared during The Conjuring that she nearly broke my hand while i was holding hers) made me promise that I won't end the story with something sad.


End file.
